Save Me A Dance
by thereluctantwriter
Summary: Sequel to Normal is Overrated. Established Felicity-Richard Grayson. Oliver and Felicity attend a benefit in Gotham, when masked gunmen crash the party. Richard and Diggle work together to rescue them. Olicity undertones. AU after The Promise.
1. Chapter 1

This is the end of "Normal is Overrated," the first part of this story which is how Richard and Felicity met, and how Oliver comes to realize how he feels.

* * *

It had been a long time since she felt this way about anyone—this heart pounding, weak-in-the-knees, butterflies-in-the-stomach sensation that was as foreign to her these days as the words "boring" and normal." If she was being honest with herself, the last person who made her feel this way waltzed into her office three years earlier and handed her a bullet-ridden laptop. But things were complicated with Oliver, and Richard was as refreshingly simple as masked vigilantes came.

He was standing before her, his back facing the private plane that was being prepped to bring him back to Gotham, looking at her with an expression that let her know this goodbye would be temporary. She took a step towards him, reaching out and grasping the lapels of his suit, her thumb running up and down the fabric.

"We should probably talk about the elephant in the room," she cooed, surprised at the affection her voice held.

"You mean you and Oliver?" Richard cringed at his own words.

She threw him a questioning look. Her fingers came into contact with the nape of his neck, and holding his gaze, she replied, "No…I meant the distance. Starling City? Gotham?" She looked at him expectantly, studying his reaction, smiling when relief washed over his face. He looked down at her, and then he was grinning.

"Felicity," he said, straightening his posture as his confidence returned. "We got kidnapped on our first date, survived our first fight, and successfully completed our first mission. I think we can handle a couple of miles between us."

"It's 782 miles. That's 780 more than a couple," she pointed out.

He nodded, looking sideways for a second before replying. He had come out to Starling for a variety of reasons, the least important of which was getting her to take the position, and now her answer was the only thing he really cared about. Even though he already knew what it was, he couldn't help but try again, just one more time. "Well, there's always that job waiting for you in Gotham," he said, his tone casual but his eyes pleading. She laughed, marveling at his resolve.

"There's an overqualified assistant…waiting for you here," she countered.

"Is she as hot as you?"

A quiet laugh escaped her lips, but she tried to fake annoyance. "Can't you be serious for just two minutes?" Then she saw the change in his eyes, as his fingers reached out to cradle her face. He leaned in, letting his forehead rest on hers, thumbs gently stroking her jawline, making sure she understood every word that came next.

"Felicity," he said, firmly. "I can be serious for a _lot_ longer than that."

She was smiling when his lips met hers.

* * *

"Hard at work?"

Oliver jerked his head up, his hand coming up to his forehead as he tried to adjust to the light entering his sleep-deprived eyes. Richard Grayson was leaning against the doorway of his office, tie loosened, trademark impish grin on his face.

"Felicity's—" His eyebrows narrowed as he tried to figure out the last time he saw her. She was definitely sitting at her desk when he arrived that morning, and he was sure she came back after grabbing her second cup of coffee. And then there was the investor meeting that she sat in for, taking notes for him on her tablet. He remembers that they walked back to his office together because she was rambling about the science of reverse osmosis for QC's latest Kenya water purifying project and he was chanting "keep nodding" to himself in response to terms like "semi-permeable membrane." When she sat down on her desk, he had stolen one last look at her before heading into his office. She had left her hair down for a change, and he always appreciated the way it gracefully framed her face.

By then, it was nearly 3 pm, and Oliver had been up over 30 hours straight. So for the life of him, he couldn't remember what she was talking about when she popped her head back into his office half an hour later. He was already at that point-the one where his eyes were open but his brain had already shut down, so as soon as she left, his need for sleep had become impossible to ignore.

"Doing your job?" Richard quirked his eyebrows at him.

"Doing _something_…" Two fingers came up his temple as he struggled to remember. She was wearing a bright pink dress today, and her fingernails were a shade of gray she had never tried before—he noticed _that,_ not that it was relevant to this conversation. "It's Felicity. I pretend I understand so I don't have to feel stupid all over again when she tries to explain things to me a second time…" He left out the part about being so exhausted, his brain had shut down for the day.

Richard chuckled. "I just make out with her when I need her to shut up." He made his way to the leather chair in front of Oliver's desk, and sank into it, pulling his tie off and placing it in his pocket.

Oliver tried to ignore the dull ache that managed to overwhelm him when he had to face the fact that Richard and Felicity were actually attempting—and, so far, succeeding—at making a committed long-distance relationship work. He initially brushed it off as something that would crash and burn in a month's time, only it was now four months later. They were still going strong, alternating between weekends in Starling City and Gotham.

"That's…not really an option for me." It was becoming increasingly challenging not to constantly compare the difference in options between him and Richard when it came to her. It was even harder not to feel bitter about it.

"No, it isn't. So…no idea where she is?"

Oliver shifted in his chair and leaned back. "Uh…when you do find her, can we just pretend I knew all along where she went?

"What's in it for me?"

"I won't show her the picture I have of you in your cheerleading outfit."

"Male stuntsman, Queen."

Oliver shrugged, smiling. "We can let Felicity decide what to call it."

"Decide what?" Felicity walked in, folder in one hand, smiling at the two men. Richard got up quickly, wrapping his arms around her and leaning in for a kiss. Oliver had an automated response for this: he checked his phone and promised himself an extra hour with the training dummy at the Foundry. He would have to remind Felicity to order a new one; the dummy had been on the receiving end of a lot of frustration lately. It had seen better days...pre-Felicity and Richard days, to be exact.

"Oliver and I were just discussing whether you'd be interested in skipping the Foundry tonight for a night out with your gorgeous boyfriend." Richard said with a smile when their lips parted. He threw Oliver a look that said, "I've got this covered."

"I never used the word 'gorgeous.'" Oliver quipped. And I would never use the word "boyfriend," he thought to himself.

Richard winked. "You were thinking it."

Oliver cringed. "No, I really wasn't."

"I highlighted every line that needs your signature. Just leave it on my desk before you leave." Felicity handed him the folder she had brought in. "Call me if you need me tonight."

"Words you never want your girlfriend to say to another man," Richard groaned, slipping his arm possessively around her waist and pulling her back towards him. He was grinning though, letting Oliver know he wasn't really feeling threatened. "We should get going," he said, his voice a loud whisper. She flashed Oliver a warm smile-one that he had difficulty returning lately-before letting Richard pull her away.

Oliver always thought the knot in his stomach that first appeared at the sight of them together would eventually come undone, and he could watch this sickening display of affection with apathy. It never happened. Instead, that knot seemed to get tighter with every kiss he witnessed—a gutting, painful reminder of what he gave up the day he told Felicity he could never be with someone he cared about; of all the times after that when he gazed into her eyes and should have bridged the distance between them with a kiss; of all the intimate conversations they had when words came out of his mouth, and he managed to keep talking and still not actually say how he really felt.

There were many things Oliver Queen regretted. Watching her walk away with Richard Grayson for the umpteenth time made it clear: not telling her he loved her was at the top of that list.


	2. Chapter 2

Guys, sorry...I stopped watching "Arrow" for awhile. I haven't caught up, so I started this after "The Promise." Oliver is still CEO, Felicity is still his EA, Dig is still his bodyguard.

* * *

"So, on a scale of 1-10, how big_ is_ this surprise?" Felicity asked, her fingers curled over Richard's hand. He was grasping her elbow, leading her blindfolded, off the elevator.

"Felicity, you've slept with me enough times to know I don't _do_ small surprises." Richard mused, tugging her gently to the left.

She laughed. "How _do_ you make _everything_ sound dirty?"

Richard shifted his position, and then she felt his breath in front of her face, close to her mouth. "I'm just really talented," he whispered seductively. Even with her eyes closed, she had kissed him enough times to recognize what came next, and she welcomed the feel of his lips on hers, returning his kiss with passion and enthusiasm.

"We're here," he said, when he finally pulled away.

She heard a soft click, and then a door opening. The scent of new leather and wood polish greeted her, and then Richard was pulling the blindfold off her eyes.

She was standing on beautiful, polished mahogany floors, staring at the immaculate white walls that engulfed one end of the expansive space before her. On the far right was the kitchen—featuring stainless steel appliances, modern cabinets, and hanging pendant lights over a sleek island, three black leather barstools pushed into the bar side of it. Before her was the living room—a deep, black leather couch with matching arm chairs surrounding a glass coffee table, and a beautiful marble fireplace that was already in use, and radiating warmth. It was a beautiful penthouse apartment, fully furnished. Her attention was drawn to the apartment's best feature: the glass walls that reminded her of Queen Consolidated, and which provided an unobstructed view of what she considered to be one of the most beautiful sights in the world: the Starling City skyline.

"You bought a place in Starling City." She would have phrased it as a question if the framed picture of her on the mantle hadn't made it abundantly clear this was his apartment. Her mouth hanging open, she turned to Richard, eyes wide, filled with both shock and amusement. "You do realize you don't live here, right? Unless there's something else you want to tell me."

He shrugged. "It was a good deal. And Starling City's reinventing itself. Property values are on the rise. It's a great addition to my real estate portfolio."

"So, you bought it because it's a good investment?" She tilted her head at him questioningly.

He walked over to her, grinning, and wrapped his arms around her waist, spinning her to face him. His fingers came up and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, and then cradled her cheek.

"I think it might be the best one I've ever made," he told her, his voice soft, a small smile on his lips.

It was clear that he wasn't referring to the apartment anymore. Richard was like this—always declaring how much he cared about her without explicitly saying the words. Early on, it was obvious he was all in, and the longer they dated, the clearer it was he would always be one step ahead of her when it came to their relationship. It was refreshing to be with someone so transparent about his feelings; she never found herself wondering where they stood. Richard always made it clear what he wanted and said what was on his mind.

"I splurged on the bed," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "I wanted to make sure it was especially comfortable considering all the time I plan to spend there with you."

Felicity laughed, and shrieked when he pulled her off her feet and into his arms, kicking the door shut and carrying her off, determined to prove just how comfortable that bed was.

* * *

"Anything you want to talk about?" Dig asked, when the force of Oliver's strike knocked another peg off the training dummy.

He was drenched in sweat, his lips pressed together in a firm line, and he met Diggle's eyes for a second before shaking his head. "Must be made in China," he commented, throwing the detached peg to the far side of the room.

"Right." Diggle quirked his eyebrows up at his friend.

"Don't," Oliver warned, his index finger coming up.

Diggle's hands came up in surrender. "Hey man, you've replaced drinking with training," he said with a shrug. "I think that can be considered progress. And so long as you don't replace training with crying, I'm here for you."

"You're hilarious," Oliver said dryly.

"My best material, man," Dig said, tossing him a pair of sparring sticks before picking up his own set, and walking to the training mats. "Now, how about you try beating something up that _isn't _made in China, and can actually fight back and kick your ass."

* * *

"But he's not moving here?" Diggle asked, handing Felicity her coffee order.

Felicity shrugged. "I made a comment once about wishing my townhouse had a view of the Starling City skyline." She took a sip of her drink. "I keep forgetting he's a millionaire, heir to billions. And, clearly, an impulse buyer."

"Maybe he's been thinking about it for awhile."

"I mentioned it two weekends ago."

Dig whistled. "He's got it bad." He cleared his throat. "How would you feel if he did move here?"

"I try not to get my hopes up. It would be great…not having to do the long-distance thing. Don't get me wrong, it's not as bad as it could be with his access to a private jet that surpasses the most advanced tech the military has. And there's always more than enough crime to go around. Oliver would get some help. Richard and Roy would hit it off, definitely." She sighed. "But right now, he's pretty committed to Gotham…and Bruce. And I like to think we have time to get to…wherever it is we're meant to get to, you know?"

Dig nodded thoughtfully, thinking of him and Lyla and how long it took them to get back on track. "Speaking of Gotham, you ready for the weekend?"

"Can't wait," she said with a smile.

* * *

Next chapter is in Gotham. There will be a benefit...and a kidnapping trope with Oliver and Felicity...I think. In the meantime, I may, or may not, watch the remaining episodes of Arrow. I know Roy and Dick Grayson are best friends in the comics, so I really hope to get around to writing that. And Oliver and Felicity...I think Richard's all-in attitude is in stark contrast to Oliver's "Can't be with someone I could really care about" angst speech, so the fact that Richard does the same thing he does (fight crime, dangerous alter-ego) is integral to the character arc for Oliver in this story. Basically, it's meant to show him what a load of crap that stance is, and that having a love life IS possible with the life he leads-only the person he'd want that relationship with is already taken, because dammit, if anyone deserves to be the center of a love triangle in the show, it's Felicity, right?


	3. Chapter 3

"You're kidding, right?" Felicity scowled, looking up at the ceiling, her grip on her phone tightening. She winced at the gunshots she heard in the background, concern over Richard's safety replacing the annoyance she felt over the call—this call, letting her know he would be late. Again.

"I will be there as soon as this is over," Richard said, grunting. She knew he was in the middle of the fight. "Do you mind? I'm trying to talk to my girlfriend here," she heard him say before hearing another voice yell out in pain. "Look, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you. I gotta go. Save me a dance."

The line went dead. Felicity sighed and forced herself to take deep breaths, running the same mantra in her head: "He'll be fine. He's been doing this longer than Oliver. He's _always _fine."

It didn't do much to quell her worry, seeing as she couldn't help the dread that formed at the pit of her stomach every time Oliver and Diggle left the lair. It was the one part of the job she had never quite gotten used to. Her mind could rationalize this was the risk with what they did, and she had made peace with Richard's double life when she started dating him. But the genius in her kept running the statistics, and the reality was, with every new crusade, the odds stacked up against him.

"Everything okay?" Oliver's voice came up behind her. She turned to face him, and without saying a word, he knew whom she was talking to. He dipped his chin once, acknowledging the obvious, having been on the other side of this situation far too often in the past. "Whatever it is, it must have been important."

"It always is," she said, defeated. She took in a deep breath.

"For what it's worth, you look amazing." He didn't compliment her often, or at all, these days. Over the last four months, Oliver had learned to put another mask on, one created just for her: that of a friend who loved her platonically. It was, by far, the hardest one to sell, and the one that went against everything he felt lately. But she seemed to need something now, and this was the best he could do under the circumstances. "He's a brave man, letting you walk in there alone."

She wore a cobalt blue, backless evening dress for the party, a gold sapphire pendant on her neck. Her hair was swept up in a half-ponytail, soft curls coming over her shoulders. She was stunning.

"He knows there's not much competition."

Oliver felt his stomach tighten at her words, and part of him considered getting on his private jet and heading back to Starling City. Why he agreed to do this, he couldn't remember at the moment. Something about philanthropy, and the fight for the cure, and how he had to do something as Oliver Queen that he couldn't do as the Arrow. Richard was right about all that; Felicity being on board made it impossible for him to come up with a reason why he couldn't do it. But Diggle gave him the final push he needed—he had convinced him that as little time as he wanted to spend with Felicity _and_ Richard, together, the cause wasn't about him; there were far too many families who had suffered already. Heroism went far beyond the suit he put on at night; he was blessed enough to have opportunities to help wearing a different suit during the day.

Celeste Barclay was recovering well, and the progress she was making was the first real breakthrough doctors had in curing this disease. Tonight's benefit would raise a significant amount of money towards that end, and with the combined resources of Wayne Enterprises and Queen Consolidated, there was a real chance they'd make progress finding a cure, the legal way.

"Felicity, I'm sure there's nowhere he'd rather be than here with you."

"I'm fine, Oliver. Go on in," she prodded. "Without Richard and Bruce, you're practically the host of this party."

"I'll see you in there?"

"Right by the bar in a few minutes," she promised.

* * *

"You are easily the most beautiful woman in this room."

Felicity was focused on the last few drops of red wine her glass held. It was her third one, and she was grateful for the relaxed buzz it gave her. It would certainly help her respond with more restraint than she was feeling given how this night was turning out.

"I'm actually waiting for someone," she said tactfully, locking eyes with a tall, brown-haired man who was smiling at her.

"Well, I'd be happy to keep you company until he arrives."

"That's not necessary. I have this." She held up her wine glass, and smiled politely.

"I am much better company than a glass of wine," the man said.

Felicity downed the last of her drink, and handed the glass over to the bartender. "Can I have another one, please?" She turned to the man, and held out her index finger, ready to let out an evening's worth of frustration, when she felt a familiar grip around her outstretched hand.

While Oliver was flashing her the same charming smile he had used all evening to woo Gotham's richest, it was the look in his eyes that put her back on track; the look that told her to focus on him, and calm down. She had given it to him enough times to recognize that the tables were turned. "I've been looking for you. Hoping for that dance you promised me," he said in a measured voice.

The bartender returned, but before Felicity could accept her fourth glass of wine, Oliver pulled her away and unto the dance floor. He had been watching her since she entered, tracking her while he schmoozed with the crowd of strangers who comprised Gotham's most influential and affluent members. The plan was to give her space, which she clearly needed, but all the nights they spent at Verdant had made him all too aware of two things: she was bound to get hit on, and she hated getting hit on. That, and given how fast she was downing the wine, an intervention was clearly in her very near future.

Dancing was a bad idea. He knew that. He tried not to think about his hand on her bare back, and how he had spent the last few months consciously trying not to touch her. He had a love-hate relationship with how her hand fit perfectly in his, how the scent of her hair made him want to lean in closer than what could be considered platonic, and how being this close to her always made him think about what it would be like to kiss her. Plus, he had always loathed dancing; nothing made him feel quite as uncoordinated and awkward as attempting, and failing, to move in step with another person. He never understood the appeal of it, until this moment. Holding Felicity in his arms, and how she moved perfectly in time with him…nothing felt more natural. With a sinking feeling, he realized it wasn't that he didn't enjoy dancing; it was that he never had the right partner.

"You're welcome," he whispered in her ear.

"Please," she said, looking over his shoulder at the group of single debutantes eyeing him hungrily. "It was either me or one of them. You need me more than I need you."

Oliver chuckled and nodded. She had no idea how true her words were.

"But thank you," she said, finally, her head leaning lightly on his shoulder. The alcohol was getting to her; she probably should have paced herself better, especially considering she hadn't had much to eat. "For saving me from myself."

"You've done it for me more times than I can count," he said.

Felicity nodded, closing her eyes and trying not to think about all the different things that were running through her mind at this moment—like how Richard was out there, dodging bullets when he was supposed to be dancing with her. How dancing with Oliver wasn't the worst thing in the world, and how her thoughts were going to how, holding her, right at this moment, was exactly what she needed.

Her eyes jerked open with the sound of a gunshot echoing in the ballroom. Screams rang out, and Oliver had thrown his body over hers and pushed her down to the ground.

"Stay down," he ordered, scanning the ballroom and noting the servers spilling in from the kitchen with ski masks over their faces, guns outstretched towards the crowd.

"Nobody move. Now…where is Bruce Wayne?"

* * *

If you have time, please leave a review! It's always helpful to receive feedback. :)


	4. Chapter 4

So, Commissioner Gordon knows who both Richard and Bruce are in this fic.

* * *

"Bruce, whatever it is, I can't do it," were the first words out of Richard's mouth when he answered his phone. "Felicity's waiting, and I'm pretty sure this is the biggest doghouse I've _ever_ been in with any of my girl—"

"Richard, the news." Bruce sounded more serious than usual.

"I just told you, whatever it is, it will have to wait until after the benefit."

"It's _about_ the benefit."

"What are you talking about?" He placed his phone on speaker, set it down, and picked up the remote to turn on the TV in the limo. It was all over the news-the Queen Consolidated-Wayne Enterprises Charity Benefit, overrun with masked gunmen.

"I'll be there in a few hours," Bruce stated. In the background, Richard heard the familiar hum of the same jet he had piloted countless times before.

He watched the blinking lights of police cruisers on the screen, the newscaster moving around, trying to get a statement from his good friend, Police Commissioner James Gordon. The lump that formed in his throat was more pronounced with each passing second, as his imagination ran ahead of him—thoughts of Felicity, more scared in his mind than he knew she would be in real life.

"Richard?"

"I'm here," his voice was small. His hands balled into fists so tight, he could barely feel his fingers.

Bruce knew him well enough not to mistake his response as calm; he knew Richard's rage ran deep when it came to people close to him. "You're emotionally compromised. Sit this one out. Let Gordon handle it until I get there."

Silence.

"Richard?"

"This will be over before you get here," Richard promised, hanging up before Bruce could say another word.

* * *

"I'm going to need you to move away from me," Oliver whispered.

"What?" Felicity narrowed her eyes at him.

His brow was furrowed as his eyes scanned the ballroom carefully, analyzing what he was up against. He was already forming a plan, but before launching it, he needed to make sure she was safe—which meant she had to be as far away from his as possible. Story of his life since the day he met her.

"Move away from me." He kept the volume of his voice low, but his tone was firm; a command more than a request.

"Whatever it is you think you're doing, the answer is no," Felicity said, her arms crossed in front of her.

Oliver sighed. "Felicity," he said through gritted teeth, as he considered that the amount of wine she had to drink wasn't going to work in his favor. She was, unfortunately, even more stubborn with alcohol in her system. "Please."

She threw him a look, rolled her eyes, and shook her head.

He inhaled deeply and made a concentrated effort at a gentler tone. It worked, sometimes. She never was one who responded well to commands. "Please," he said again.

"You and your stupid _martyr_ complex," she whispered back angrily. "You don't think I've figured out your plan? I have, and it's _stupid_."

"Felicity!" he hissed, throwing her an exasperated look.

"Oliver!" she hissed back, sassy as ever. "You want to make stupid decisions, _fine_, but don't think just because I'm not standing right next to you, I'm not affected."

He sighed again in defeat.

"Where. Is. Bruce. Wayne." The masked gunman pointed the gun from one terrified guest to another as he released each word, shrieks and cries from terrified guests. He stopped in front of an elderly woman in a magenta gown, pushing the gun into her forehead.

"He isn't here," she sobbed in reply. "He never arrived."

Oliver's jaw tightened as considered the distance between him and the gunman. He felt Felicity's fingers land gently on his arm, and then her voice was in his ear.

"You're no help to anyone dead," she pointed out.

"I'm no help to anyone with you right next to me, because I can't handle this situation unless I know you're safe." His frustration was growing by the minute, and he threw her a sideways glance before attempting, once again, to convince her to let him do what he did best. Diffuse the danger. Eliminate the threat. "Felicity, trust me. You always have." His eyes searched hers, pleading for cooperation.

She huffed, clearly annoyed, but finally acquiesced and stepped back, away from him. Their eyes remained locked together, even as the distance between them grew, and he dipped his head once in her direction-a simple act that told her both how grateful he was, and not to worry. He cleared his throat loudly to get the attention of the masked gunman. Placing his hands up in surrender, he moved forward slowly.

"Bruce couldn't make it, but maybe I can help," he said, using the same charming tone pre-island Oliver always used to get what he wanted.

"Oliver Queen." There was a smile behind the voice. "Yeah, this evening might still work out after all."

"Look, these people just came to support a good cause." Oliver smiled confidently-slipping into the mask of billionaire CEO that he wore so well. "How about you and I go into another room, move all the guns elsewhere, have a conversation about how much it's going to take to resolve all this. You're looking for a billionaire," he gestured to himself. "You've got one."

He watched as one of the masked servers by the door walked over to the man he was speaking to. "The police are here. We gotta move soon."

Another man started handing out ski masks to all the men in the room. "Put these on, now."

Oliver could feel Felicity's eyes on him, as one of the gunmen grabbed his arm, and held a ski mask in front of him. "You, too." He took it and pulled it over his head. "See, I'm easy. I'm not going to give you any trouble." _Not right now_, he thought to himself.

"Grab the blond in the blue dress. She's coming with us."

Oliver froze. He felt the panic rise in his chest as his eyes darted, first to Felicity, who had perfected the art of calm in the presence of danger, and then to the man who gave the command.

It was the man who hit on her in the bar.

* * *

"Richard." Commissioner Gordon grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the alleyway. "Bruce called. I can't let you go in there."

"I don't remember asking for permission," Richard replied, jerking his arm free. "My girlfriend is in there. If it were Babs, would you _really_ be telling me to stay out here?"

At the mention of his only daughter, Richard's ex-girlfriend, Jim Gordon was silenced.

Richard scoffed. "I didn't think so. I'm not asking you to help, Jim. Just stay out of my way."

* * *

John Diggle was pacing the west side of the building, observing two policemen standing by a door, waiting for the perfect opportunity to break in. Richard approached him quickly, clasping his shoulder, relieved to talk to someone who might have more information—information he could actually use.

"John, where's Felicity? Have you heard from her?"

"The bad news is, she's in there," John pointed to the building. "The good news is, she's probably with Oliver."

"File that under statements I never thought I'd agree with," Richard mused.

"I've been trying to come up with a plan for the last 10 minutes."

"I have a plan." Richard nodded enthusiastically.

John threw him a questioning look. "You do?"

"Yeah, we break in, find the bad guys, make them regret walking out of their houses tonight." He felt Diggle's eyes on him and turned to face him. "Was that _not_ what you had in mind?"

"Richard, we don't know what we're up against. We could be putting people in danger."

"John, danger is my middle name. Actually, it's Robin, but it should have been danger." Richard smirked. "And the only people who are in danger are the ones holding guns in there."

"Look, I know you're worried man, but there's no one she's safer with than Oliver."

Richard scrubbed his hand over his face before replying. "She'd be safer with me," he said.

* * *

So...what do you guys think so far?


	5. Chapter 5

Guys, sorry this is so late. I got sick, and then busy, and then sick again, and then it was just really hard to find my voice again.

* * *

"Looks like I'm going to have the chance to keep you company after all."

She knew Oliver's eyes were on her, but Felicity kept her attention on the man now making his way towards her.

"Jimmy Peake," he said, reaching out to take her hand. She glanced at Oliver, his blue eyes peeking out behind the black ski mask, and held his gaze for a few seconds. His rigid stance—the way his arms tensed at his side—tipped her off to rage bubbling beneath the surface. So every word out of her mouth, every movement she made, was a preview into her mental state—a way to tell him she was okay; she could handle this.

She kept her tone placid. "Felicity," she said.

"Pleasure." Jimmy pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it. There was a point in time when she might have outwardly cringed, but that version of Felicity Smoak was a distant memory now. She had since learned to filter her reactions, always ready to slip on her poker face as efficiently as Oliver slid into his shallow, spoiled, rich boy act.

Oliver scoffed. "You have me. Why complicate things? What do you need her for? I'm your ticket out of here."

He was grateful that he could hide behind a real mask at this moment. There was no way he would manage to pull off the calm, collected billionaire act watching Jimmy Peake eye Felicity lasciviously; no way he would have been able to sell to anyone that she was just another notch on his bedpost—a one-time date that would have evolved into another one-night stand for the illustrious Oliver Queen. As good an actor as he had become, his ability to lie was always weakest when it came to her.

"Nice try, Mr. Queen, but you're a businessman. We both know insurance policies are smart. She's ours."

Richard Grayson perfected a sleeper hold when he was 12. Call it a perk of being raised by a vigilante. Mere seconds was all it took to knock someone out these days, so between him and Diggle, the west entrance was clear in a matter of minutes.

The hallway before them was clear. Diggle handed him his spare gun upon entering, but Richard shook his head.

His eyes darted down the corridor before them. "I'm not going to need it."

Digg nodded and returned the piece on his ankle holster. "Which way?"

Richard jerked a finger over his shoulder. "Ballroom's this way." He turned to the left, pausing when he felt the weight of Diggle's hand on his shoulder.

"If the ballroom's that way, we need to go in the opposite direction, and one floor up." The younger man's eyes narrowed at him questioningly. "Vantage point," he explained. "We need to see what we're up against."

Richard huffed. "Whatever we're up against, I can handle."

John sighed and rolled his eyes. "Going in cocky and blind is a stupid plan. Confidence is good. Intelligent is better." He quirked one eyebrow up, a non-verbal dare to follow an actual plan. "So how about we try this with a little more head and little less heart?"

It became clear that Richard had mistaken John Diggle's calm demeanor for a lack of concern. He shut his eyes for a second, trying to center himself, talking down the "jump now, think later" part of him that was threatening to take over; that had taken over the moment the news of the hostage crisis flashed on the news. Bruce was right, of course. He was emotionally compromised. He wasn't quite thinking straight. But there was no way he would sit outside while the cops tried to sort this mess out; no way he would trust Felicity's safety to anyone else, not even to Oliver.

"Hey man." Digg's tone was softer this time. "Oliver and Felicity. They're family to me."

"Then I guess we're going this way," Richard said, starting off in the opposite direction.

The ballroom was full of masked men now, guests and assailants blending in together behind ski masks, the former huddled against the door. Oliver and Felicity were moved to the opposite end of the room, separated from the rest, towards an exit that would have taken them back into the building instead of away from it. Sobs and screams filled the air, guests panicking as guns were jammed into bodies, urging them closer to the ballroom entrance.

When Felicity was finally within reach, Oliver grabbed her hand and turned her towards him. "You okay?" Concern was etched in his tone.

She nodded reassuringly. "I'm fine."

"You're right, it was a stupid plan."

She placed her palm flat on his chest, and looked up at him, blue eyes shining despite the turn of events the night had taken. "Hey, how about you do without second guessing yourself?" She gave him a small smile, and he marveled at her ability to do this—to urge him forward any time he felt like pulling back; to always have more confidence in him than he could manage to scrounge up for himself; to let him know, right when he needed it, that she still believed in him. The squeeze she gave his hand told him that he'd find his way out of this; she was the North Star who always let him know he wasn't a lost cause.

And looking into her eyes, he knew she was right.

He dropped his head, placing his mouth by her ear. "You're my date tonight. Just go with it." He pulled back, taking in the confusion on her face. "They're looking for Wayne," he explained. "And it's no secret who Richard Grayson is. For once, you're safer being associated with me than you are with him."

She pursed her lips. "Fine. But just for the record, this is officially the worst date I've ever been on."

"Well," Oliver narrowed his eyes at Jimmy Peake. "Technically, Richard planned this date. So you can blame him when we get out of this."

"What is going on down there?" Richard was peeking over the bannister railing at the scene below.

Diggle crouched beside him. "They're releasing the guests."

"Felicity." Richard felt his stomach tighten as she noted that she was separated from the rest of the guests. Singled out. "John, Oliver's not with her."

"Yeah, he is," Diggle replied as his eyes landed on Oliver's frame.

Even from a distance, Diggle could make out his hands, index finger and thumb rubbing together, as though twirling an imaginary arrow; it was his tell when he was agitated. "Looks like the guests are the distraction. Releasing them will create enough of a frenzy that no one would notice for awhile Oliver and Felicity are missing."

Richard's eyes narrowed at the brown-haired man standing close to Felicity. "I know that guy."

"Who?"

"The moron who didn't bother wearing a mask. That's…Peake…he worked for Wayne Enterprises."

"Past tense?"

"Bruce fired him about a month ago. Found out he was embezzling money. Using fake charities. Didn't take it well. Made quite a scene when security dragged him off."

"Well, then I guess we've got motive. Come on, we've got to move."


End file.
